“What is this place?” Alex asked.
“It was the O’Brien paper mill back in the twenties. They upgraded to the new mill in my grandfather’s day, when the town got a railroad spur.” He pointed beyond the trees to where the Chattahoochee River flowed. “Before that, they used the river to bring logs in and move the paper out.”
“I thought you said it was a pile of rubble.”
“It was. That bunker’s new, and camouflaged well enough that we didn’t see it from the air.” He said no more, watching Frank, who was leaning against his squad car, watching them.
“What are you waiting for?” Alex hissed, her voice vibrating like a plucked string.
“Backup,” he said succinctly, not taking his eyes from Frank. “And Sheriff Corchran to take you to where it’s safe.” He heard her indrawn breath and knew she wanted to argue, but he knew she would not and he respected her for it. “I don’t want to get Bailey killed by going in there half-cocked, Alex. If she is in there and she’s alive, I want to bring her out that way for you.”
“I know.” The words were barely audible. “Thank you, Daniel.”
“Don’t thank me. Not for this. Shit.” Frank was coming toward them, lumbering almost, and it wasn’t until he was a foot away that Daniel saw the dark wet stain on his pants leg. “He’s been hit.” The hackles raised on the back of his neck and he put the car into reverse.
Alex unsnapped her seat belt, but he grabbed her arm. “Wait.”
Alex stared at him. “We can’t just let him bleed to death. He knows where Bailey is.”
“Wait, I said.” Daniel’s mind was racing, but indecision kept his brain spinning out of gear. Trap, his mind was screaming. But he’d been friends with this man a very long time. He rolled down his window a few inches. “What happened?”
“Caught a bullet,” Frank gritted, hooking his fingers in the open space of the window, smearing blood on the glass. He leaned in close. “Turn around and go. I’m sor-”
A shot cracked the air and after a split second of stunned pain and disbelief, Frank slid down Daniel’s car door. Daniel was already slamming his foot on the gas, sending them careening backward. “Get down!” he barked, not looking to see if Alex obeyed.
He wrenched the wheel, prepared to do a one-eighty. Then flew forward, smacking his head against the wheel when he hit something large and solid. From the corner of his eye he saw Alex slide down the dash to the floor in a heap.
Dazed, he looked up into his rearview and saw another Dutton patrol car, then looked right and saw Randy Mansfield standing in front of Alex’s open car door holding a Smith & Wesson.40 caliber semiautomatic. Pointed at Alex’s head.
“Drop the gun, Danny,” Randy said calmly. “Or I’ll kill her while you watch.”
Daniel blinked, reality congealing in a rush. Alex. She was huddled on the floorboard, motionless, and his heart stopped. “Alex. Alex?”
“I said give me the gun. Now.” He held out his left hand. His right still held his Smith at Alex’s head.
Where are you, Luke? Keeping his eyes on Mansfield’s gun, he slowly extended his Sig, grip first. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want you to shoot me,” Mansfield said dryly. He slipped Daniel’s Sig into the back of his waistband. “Give me your backup, just as slow.”
“She might be dead already,” Daniel made himself say. “Why should I do anything you say?”
“She’s not dead. She’s just playin’ possum.” He shoved the barrel of his gun into Alex’s head, but she didn’t move, and Mansfield looked impressed. “Either she’s really knocked out cold or she’s really good at playin’ possum. Either way, she’s still alive but won’t be in about ten seconds unless you do what I say.”
Gritting his teeth, Daniel pulled his backup from his ankle holster. Dammit, Luke, where the fuck are you? “You sonofabitch,” he hissed to Mansfield.
Mansfield took his revolver, then motioned with his head. “Get out of the car and put your hands on the hood. Nice and slow, you know the drill.”
Daniel got out of the car and looked to where Frank lay, not moving. “Is he dead?”
“If he’s not, he will be soon. Hands on the hood, Vartanian. You, get up.” He shoved the gun at Alex’s head again, but from his new position, Daniel couldn’t see if she moved or not. With a frustrated huff, Mansfield slid Daniel’s backup into his waistband next to his Sig, then grabbed Alex’s hair and yanked. Still nothing.
Daniel pushed back his panic. She was probably unconscious. It might be a blessing in disguise. Mansfield would leave her here, and Luke would find her.
“Pick her up,” Mansfield said, stepping back.
“What?”
“You heard me. Pick her up and carry her inside. I may need her later.” Mansfield motioned impatiently with his gun. “Do it.”
“She could have a back injury.”
Mansfield rolled his eyes. “Vartanian, I’m not stupid.”
Gingerly, Daniel lifted her from the car. Her breathing was shallow but steady. “Alex,” he whispered.
“Vartanian,” Mansfield snapped. “Move.”
Daniel scooped her into his arms, one arm under her knees, the other clutching her shoulders. Her head lolled like a rag doll and he remembered Sheila, dead in the corner. His arms tightened around her and he flicked a last desperate glance over his shoulder. Luke, goddammit. Where are you?
Chapter Twenty-five
Friday, February 2, 3:30 p.m.
From the cover of the trees, Bailey watched the unmarked car race by doing nearly a hundred, its lights flashing. Police. Relief had her nearly passing out. The cops were headed toward the compound. Maybe more would come. She had to get to the road.
She shook the girl’s shoulder. “Come on,” she rasped. “Walk.”
“I can’t.” It came out a moan and Bailey knew the girl could go no further.
“Then stay here. If I don’t come back, try to get help for yourself.”
The girl grabbed her arm, eyes wide with terror. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”
Bailey firmly removed the girl’s hand. “If I don’t get you help, you’ll die.”
The girl’s eyes closed. “Then just let me die.”
Beardsley’s voice came to her mind. “Not on my watch.” She turned to the road and forced her feet to move, but her knees kept giving out. So she crawled. The road was raised and she had to climb an embankment. Her hands kept slipping on the grass, her palms wet with blood. Move your ass, Bailey. Move.
She was a few feet from the road when she heard the second car. Picturing Hope’s sweet face, then Beardsley’s bloodied one, she threw herself forward. The car came around the bend, swerving in a cloud of dust and screeching brakes. She heard shouts. A man’s voice. Then a woman’s.
“Did you hit her?” the woman asked. She crouched and Bailey could see dark hair and big gray eyes, filled with fear. “My God. Did we do this?”
“We didn’t hit her.” The man hunkered down, his touch gentle. “Oh, shit. She’s been beaten and she’s burning up.” He ran his hands down her arms, then her legs. His hand stilled abruptly on her ankle, then he gently gripped her chin. “Are you Bailey?”
She nodded once. “Yes. My baby, Hope. Is she alive?”
“Yes, she’s alive and she’s safe. Susannah, call Chase. Tell him we found Bailey and tell him to get us an ambulance ASAP. Then call Daniel and tell him to come back.”
Bailey grabbed his arm. “Alex?”
He looked up the road and Bailey’s heart sank. “She was in that car? Oh my God.”
His black eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“He’ll kill her. He has no reason not to. He killed them all.” The pictures flooded her mind. “He killed them all.”